


little lies

by Scrivoio



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: (jason gets shot lol), Angst, Angst and Fluff, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt Jason Todd, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Invasion of Privacy, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Light Angst, M/M, Scars, Self-Harm, Slash if you squint, anger issues, but we love them anyway, is that a thing?, it was definitely supposed to be more romantic than this, it's definitely not graphic lol, no beta we die like men, only rated teen because i dropped the f bomb a few times, physical injuries, privacy, some mentions of PTSD, some mentions of panic attacks, some mentions of suicidal ideation, subtle slash, tbh everyone needs hugs because they're all emotionally stunted self-sacrificing assholes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:02:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23521261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrivoio/pseuds/Scrivoio
Summary: Jason never showers with the rest of the team.It's not a big deal, until it kind of is.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Roy Harper & Koriand'r & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Comments: 47
Kudos: 467





	1. Chapter 1

Jason never showers with the rest of the team. Dick doesn't think anything of it, not at first. It's a little weird, sure—Jason had never been  _ shy _ about his body, had never really had that luxury. Frankly, none of the bats have really ever cared about modesty. Between living together, working together, and spending all of their nights running around Gotham getting shot at and beat up and thrown around… 

None of them have really felt like there was much modesty left to preserve, anyway. 

All of them have their quirks, though—little neuroses that have developed over time. It's a stressful job. If Jason wants to shower by himself in his room, away from the rest of the team, Dick's not about to begrudge him that.

In all honesty, Dick's too overwhelmed with relief at the knowledge that Jason's alive and himself again to even think twice about where Jason's taking his fucking showers. It's such a small thing… So insignificant that it almost seems laughable to be concerned about it. The fact that he was even willing to stay at the Manor was a miracle in itself. 

One night, after a particularly trying raid on an East Side Dragons’ dogfighting ring, everyone climbs into the cave a little worse for wear. 

A simple bust had turned into a huge blowout. There had been an explosion, and Stephanie had taken a hollow-point and some shrapnel to the shoulder. She was with Alfred in surgery; she'd be out of commission for at least a few weeks. 

"Well, that  _ sucked _ ," Tim mumbles, eyes downcast. "I always hate it when there are animals." 

Dick feels a jolt in his chest, suddenly reminded of Jason, ten years younger and still skinny from living on the streets, back from his first mission as Robin.  _ "I hate it when they hurt dogs," _ He'd told Dick,  _ "Fucking hate it. Makes me wanna kill 'em all."  _

Tim's delivery is more melancholy and less angry than Jason's had been, but the sentiment is still there. 

"Yeah," Dick sighs, clapping a hand on Tim's shoulder, "I know. It almost feels worse when it's animals." 

Tim frowns deeper. "Like, the people don't always deserve it, but I feel like the animals  _ never  _ do _."  _ A shrug, "I guess this line of work kind of turns you into a misanthrope, huh?" Tim chuckles, "Just look at Bruce. He's been at this longer than any of us, and I'm pretty sure his face is stuck in Permanent Scowl Mode." 

Dick chuckles, "Yeah, seems that way, sometimes." 

"Huh," Tim says, suddenly distracted. "Where's Jason going?"

Dick turns his head. While the rest of the team had been chatting, heading towards the showers to undress and wrap up the night, Jason had beat a hasty, silent retreat up the stairs toward the ground-level floor of the Manor. 

"He usually goes upstairs to shower, I think," Dick says. 

"Weird," Tim replies distractedly, mind having already moved on to the next thing. "Hey, can you help me unzip? I think I hyperextended my shoulder back there. Kinda sore. Can't reach the zipper."

"Sure," Dick says, mind clear of thoughts of Jason for the moment.

* * *

Jason always trains with a shirt on. 

Now, the shower thing? Dick never really gave it much thought. This, though... This is kind of weird. The Batcave is notorious for being humid and kind of gross. Even Bruce trains shirtless. 

Dick doesn't pay it much mind, but by the fifth time that he's walked in on Jason throwing wild punches and sweating through his shirt, Dick starts to wonder. 

_ Whatever, _ Dick thinks to himself,  _ It's none of my business if he wants to wear a shirt while he's training. _

And it's not. 

Really, it's not. And Dick probably wouldn't have given the matter any more thought, except... 

Except that later that week, when he's sparring with Jason, he lands a hard kick on Jason's ribs. They're both shocked that the kick lands—Jason's got nearly every physical advantage on Dick and he's almost always a better fighter besides— but Jason's reaction times have been markedly slower since he got hurt in the raid the week before. 

The blow knocks Jason on his ass, leaves him wheezing. 

" _ Shit _ ," Dick winces, "Sorry, sorry. I didn't think that one was gonna land, or I wouldn't have put so much into it. You okay?" He crouches down to Jason's level, tries to lift his shirt and assess the damage when Jason's entire demeanor changes. 

Like a switch flipping, Jason goes from startled and slightly winded to defensive and angry. He’s got this look about him, the sort of look that Dick’s seen on assault victims and stray cats alike: discomfort, panic, like a cornered animal ready to lash out. 

"Get your fucking hands off of me, Grayson," He snarls, yanking his shirt down. "I'm  _ fine _ ."

Dick sits back on his heels as Jason stands. "Right. Sorry." 

Jason growls, lip curling. "You're such a patronizing dick, Dick." Before Dick can try to apologize again, Jason's storming off, mumbling something angry and profane under his breath. 

When Tim walks into the cave in sweatpants, coffee and a laptop in hand, Dick is still sitting on the training mat. "Uh..." Tim walks over to Dick, "You okay, man?" 

Dick shakes his head. "Yeah, I just... I was sparring with Jason and he just sort of... Stormed off. It was weird." 

Tim shrugs, "I'm not that close to the guy, but even I know he's sort of a hothead. Let him walk it off, he'll be fine by dinnertime." 

"Yeah," Dick replied, quiet. "Maybe."

* * *

A few weeks later, Jason gets shot in the shoulder during a narcotics raid. 

"East corner's almost clear," Jason's voice grunts, heavy with pain, "I'm gonna need backup, though. Took one in the shoulder." 

Dick's heart rate picks up a little. He looks to Bruce, eyes wide and a little desperate. "B—"

Bruce nods, looking straight ahead as he finishes off the last of the gang members. "Go." 

Dick doesn't hang around to hear anything else. He's at Jason's side in minutes. By the time he gets there, Jason's breathing heavily, leaning most of his weight against the wall behind him. 

"Little late to the party, Dickie," Jason smirks. At Dick's concerned look, he shrugs, "Shoulder's fine; it's just a graze. I'll take care of it once we get back to the cave." 

"Codenames when we're in costume," Dick mumbles, hardly even paying attention.  _ Christ _ , he thinks to himself,  _ There's got to be at least thirty guys on the ground here. _ It shouldn't be shocking— Jason's a Bat (or, was trained by one, at least). He's reliable and fast and an incredible fighter. Thirty poorly-trained mercs is barely enough to make him break a sweat. 

Still, it makes Dick a little weak in the knees to think of him taking out thirty armed men at once and coming out the other end with nothing but a bullet graze and a split lip. 

Jason rolls his eyes. "Whatever. Let's go." 

It's not until they're climbing off their bikes to make their way back into the cave that Dick actually processes their conversation. Earlier, Jason had said, ' _ I'll take care of it.' _ Was that Jason's way of saying that he was planning on treating his own injuries? 

_ It's only a graze _ , Dick thinks to himself,  _ Just a graze. Jason can fix himself up fine. _

Which is all well and good until Jason stumbles on his way into the cave, steadying himself on the wall and hanging his head with a grunt of pain. 

"Woah," Dick says, "Hey, you okay?" He hurries to catch up to Jason, reaching out as if to help support him and then freezing as if doubting himself. He frowns, remembering the last time he tried to help Jason. 

"Fine," Jason says, "Just... I need to get to my room." 

"I'll help you." It's a testament to how much Jason's hurting that he doesn't argue. Dick slips one of Jason's arms across his shoulders, lifting most of the taller boy's weight onto his own back. 

They manage to avoid Bruce and Alfred well enough, but Dick's a little out of breath by the time they get to Jason's room. When they get there, the first thing Dick does is deposit Jason in the en-suite on the closed toilet seat. "Where's your first-aid kit?"

"Under the sink," Jason says, frowning. "You don't have to stay, I can do this myself just fine." 

Dick shrugs, handing Jason a needle. He watches as Jason tries to control the tremors in his hand, failing miserably and dropping the needle on the floor. "Right," Dick smirks, "Perfectly okay to do this yourself. Sure." 

"Whatever, jackass." Jason rolls his eyes. "At least it wasn't a hollow-point. Those are a bitch to get out. I think this one went clean through." 

Dick narrows his eyes. "You said it was, and I quote, 'just a graze.'"

Jason's eyes widen a little bit. "Uh, yeah, I kind of lied. Figured you'd go all mother hen on me. Didn't really want that." 

Dick rolls his eyes. "I do  _ not _ mother hen." 

Jason smirks, "You absolutely do." 

"Whatever. Just take your shirt off so I can see the damage." 

Jason freezes. Any air of amusement dissipates completely. 

"What's wrong?" Dick says, eyebrows creased in concern. "Do you need help getting it off?" 

"Yeah," Jason says, averting his eyes. "The armor clasps in the back." 

After a few minutes of wrestling the armor off, Jason's left in his thermal undershirt. The entire left side is soaked in blood, and Jason's wincing every time he moves. 

"Looks like the bullet went clean through," Dick says, "Might have to cut your shirt off, though. Taking the armor off was hard enough, and this looks like it hurts like a bitch." 

"I'll do it," Jason says. "Gimme the scissors." 

"You sure? Because—"

"Dick. Scissors." Jason's tone leaves no room for argument. 

"Okay." Dick watches as Jason cuts the shirt carefully around the sleeve. Instead of cutting it in half from collar to hem and taking it off, though, he stops after cutting out the sleeve. There's enough room for Dick to stitch him up, but it's a near thing. 

"You sure you don't just want to cut the whole shirt off? I'm not gonna be able to bandage it this way." 

"This is fine," Jason says, "I can wrap it up myself after." 

"Really? Because—"

" _ Dick. _ "

"Right. Okay. Sorry." Dick makes quick work of the stitches. He makes sure Jason's all set for disinfectant and bandages before he leaves, barely resisting the urge to sit at Jason's bedside all night to make sure he's okay.

In fact, he's so busy worrying about the gunshot that all the weirdness with Jason's shirt slips his mind altogether. 

* * *

The next day, it's nearly noon, and Dick hasn't seen Jason at all. In the middle of sparring with Tim, he starts to stare wistfully in the direction of the stairs leading back up to the ground floor of the Manor. 

_ Maybe I should go check on him...  _

Tim sighs audibly from the other side of the training mat, rolling his eyes as he sets his water bottle on the floor. "Look, dude, Jason's a grown-ass man. He's fine." Dick frowns, and Tim rolls his eyes again. "Christ, Dick, look at me like that.  _ Whatever. _ Go check on him."

"Thanks, Tim," Dick says, ruffling Tim's hair in a way that makes the younger boy grunt in annoyance. "I'll be back soon!"

"Sure," Tim says. If Dick bothered to look over his shoulder, he'd see Tim smiling to himself, mumbling something about idiots in love.

* * *

"Jason?" Dick's voice is quiet as he peeks into Jason's room.  _ Maybe he's still sleeping, _ Dick considers. "Wing? You here?"

Dick shrugs, pushing the rest of the way through the mostly-open door. Jason's bed was empty, Dick notices, sheets untucked and blankets rucked up. The bathroom door is slightly ajar. From inside, Dick can hear a soft grunting noise. 

"I hope that idiot didn't pull any stitches..." Dick mutters to himself, making his way toward the bathroom door. "Jason?" He says, a little louder this time as he pushes through the bathroom door. 

When he peeks his head through, he's met with a pair of wide, startled-looking eyes looking back at him in the mirror.  _ They're greener than I remember _ , Dick thinks to himself. 

He's startled out of his thoughts when he hears Jason hiss, "What the  _ fuck _ , Dick?"

Jason whips around, eyes just as green and just as hostile as they were in the mirror. For a moment, he's every inch the angry, wild boy that first stumbled back into Gotham after... After he came back. 

"I—" Dick opens his mouth as if to explain himself, jaw snapping shut when his eyes fall to Jason's exposed chest. 

Because Jason is  _ shirtless. _

And he's  _ so _ hot. Hot like  _ burning _ . Way,  _ way _ hotter than any zombified ex-bat of reprehensible moral standards has any right to be, anyway. 

Dick's not really thinking about how hot Jason is, though. 

No. Right now, Dick's gaze is locked on Jason's scars. Because there are  _ so many _ . Gashes and burns and bullet wounds and stab marks, so many more than Dick would have thought. One, in particular, stands out. In fact, it turns Dick's stomach, makes his hands feel numb and his heart beat somewhere in his esophagus. 

It's smack-dab in the center of Jason's chest, clinically straight, clean-cut, and yet somehow uglier than all of his scars combined. 

It's the massive Y-shaped scar, slicing his torso from navel to sternum and branching out towards his collarbones from there. 

_ From his autopsy,  _ Dick's unhelpful brain supplies,  _ Because he was  _ dead _.  _

Suddenly, everything seems so much less strange: the showering away from the team, the skittishness on the mat the other day, Jason’s refusal to take his shirt off in front of Dick, even for a  _ gunshot wound _ . 

_ "Oh." _ Dick's voice sounds small, even to his own ears. "Jason—" He tries, reaching out. 

Jason's lip curls back in a snarl, flinching a little at Dick’s outstretched hand. "Get the  _ fuck _ out, Dick. I'm not asking again." Suddenly, he's holding a pistol to Dick's face. 

"I... Okay. Okay, I'm leaving," Dick says, backing out of the bathroom. Jason pushes him the rest of the way out, slamming the door as soon as Dick's feet are out the doorway. 

He sits down on Jason's bed, feeling a little numb. It's not like it's the first time he's realizing that Jason died— he remembers the day he found out that it happened. It's just... Dick hasn't thought about it since Jason came back. 

If he talked to Dinah, she'd probably use words like "defense mechanism" and "repression" and "trauma," but all Dick can think about is the fact that Jason  _ died. _

He doesn't even realize that there are tears in his eyes until one falls onto his hands where they're clenched tightly in his lap. He binks, takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders. 

Crying is a weakness, and he can't afford to be weak right now. He needs to... help Jason. Support him. 

_ Whatever he needs.  _

If Jason wants to pretend like nothing happened, Dick resolves to be okay with that. 

Jason emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, hoodie on and sleeves pulled down past his wrists. His eyes are narrowed, eyebrows scrunched together in a scowl, but his shoulders are slumped, curled in like he's trying to hide. 

"C'mere Little Wing," Dick says, voice soft but not condescending, patting the mattress next to him. It's a testament to how far Jason's come since he's been back that he's even still here at all, much less that he actually walks over to sit next to Dick with no argument. 

They sit in silence for a few moments, heavy and a little sharp. Finally, Jason speaks. "'M not your Little Wing. Not anymore."

Dick swings his head up to look at Jason in surprise, a furrow in his brow. "Of course you are." Dick shakes his head, "Jason... Whatever's happened to you... You're  _ always  _ gonna be my Little Wing.  _ Always. _ "

Jason shakes his head a little violently, eyes squeezed shut. "No. No, Dick. I'm not. You have  _ no idea _ who I am, what I've done..." Jason's breathing picks up, almost erratic, "I've killed people. Lots of people."

"I know, Jase," Dick says, softly, like a mantra, "I know, I know."

"No, you  _ don't."  _ Jason shakes his head a little wildly. "Dickie, you have  _ no idea. _ " Jason shakes his head again, pulling away from Dick and squaring his shoulders a little. The chuckle that comes out of his mouth is cold and sharp. When he looks up to meet Dick's eyes, his stare is the same: ice and broken glass, shards scattered and sharp as blades. "You have no idea the people I've killed, how many or who they were. You don't know how I felt no remorse, that I  _ liked _ it. That, for a while, the rage from the Pit was the only thing keeping me alive." 

Dick flinches and Jason's smile widens, teeth sharp and white and it sends  _ chills _ down Dick's spine. Dick takes a deep breath, bites his lip, squares his shoulders and bites back, "Fuck you." 

Jason's grin drops, his eyes widening in shock. He opens his mouth to say something, but Dick's on a roll now. 

"No," Dick says, cutting him off before he can even get a syllable out. "It's my turn to talk." He stands up, starts pacing in front of the bed, gaze glued to the floor. "I’m not stupid, okay? I know… I know you’re trying to scare me off, and it isn’t going to work. You think you're the only one who's fucked up, Jason? You think you're the only one with  _ darkness _ in your heart?" Dick chuckles coldly. " _ You're  _ the one with no idea what you're talking about. After you died—" Jason flinches a little, but Dick barrels on— "I watched Bruce spiral. I was spiraling myself— I've always had anger issues. It was a huge point of contention between Bruce and me when I first started out. When you died, it got so much worse. I was picking fights, savoring the violence under the guise of helping people."

Dick shakes his head, clenches his fists. His face is hot, eyes burning with the phantom pain of unshed tears. "One night, there was a mugging while I was on patrol. I stepped in to help." Dick grimaces at the word "help," like it's profane, like it tastes sour in his mouth. 

"The girl ran away, but the mugger... He was begging me to stop. He was on the ground, I'd kicked his knee in, and his arm was broken and I... I could barely hear him through the  _ mangled fuckin' mess _ that his face had become. I think I slammed his head into the concrete a few times, I... I don't even  _ remember _ ." 

Dick rakes a hand through his hair, fingers cold and shaky. "I just remember the anger. Not even. I wasn't even angry, I just wanted him to  _ hurt _ . I wanted to kick him until he was spitting blood, until his ribs broke and he was choking on his teeth. I wanted to watch him hurt, the same way I wanted Bruce to hurt.” Dick closes his eyes, “I let Bruce spiral into his grief, watched the guilt eat him up from the inside out. Bruce was killing himself with grief, right in front of me, and I didn't even  _ try _ to help him. I just watched it happen. I did some really, really horrible things in those first few months. Somehow… In trying to escape the monsters in my head, I almost  _ became  _ one." Dick leans against the wall, facing Jason. Dick blinks, breathes, takes a moment to gather himself before he says, "What I'm saying is that you're not the only fucked up one. You're not the only one with a dark side, Jason."

Dick deflates when he's done talking. Just. Sags against the wall, lets his muscles go lax. He's cold and hollow and so, so tired. Tears run down his cheeks, hot and wet and humiliating. He reaches up to wipe them off, but his hand is intercepted halfway. 

Dick looks up, meets Jason's eyes from where their hands are joined, Jason's fingers wrapped around Dick's wrist like a vice. Jason brings a hand up to Dick's cheek, tentative and soft and careful. His palm settles on Dick's cheek, thumb swiping across his cheekbone, wiping away the tears there. 

Dick shakes at the tenderness in Jason's eyes, the vulnerability. Jason pulls him to his chest, fever-hot and gentle. He kisses Dick's forehead, runs his fingers through Dick's hair. "Ssh," He says, voice whisper-soft and crackly. "I'm sorry, Dick. I'm so, so sorry." 

Dick throws his arms around Jason, "Me too. God, Jason, me too."

"It's okay now, though," Jason says, squeezing Dick in a vice-like grip. 

_ Here. Warm. Alive.  _

"Yeah," Dick says back, savoring Jason's warmth, "It's okay now."

Dick almost believes himself. For now, he's willing to live with the lie. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so like the slash in this was kind of subtle and like... barely there? like if you squint. anyway, i'm thinking about adding a chapter/ making this a series. technically, it's fine as a standalone fic, and it feels like it could be complete, but it doesn't feel like it's totally finished yet. 
> 
> ever since this quarantine started, i've basically had an unlimited amount of time on my hands, which is probably one of the biggest reasons that i'm giving serious thought to adding a part 2. 
> 
> so uh... lemme know what you think! comments are always appreciated & if anyone would be interested in a part 2, lmk : )


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jason has a habit of running away from his feelings. in this case, that means ditching dick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so! i ended up just adding another chapter instead of making a whole series. it just seemed like it'd make the story flow better? idk. 
> 
> ok so this chapter is kind of... 3k words' worth of Jason angst. it's pretty light angst? i think? i mean it kind of hurt to write but only cos i kno this is kind of gonna end up being a fix-it fic lol. so, yeah. a more in-depth look at jason's issues, especially within the context of his relationship with dick. 
> 
> uh.,, as far as trigger warnings go? there are some light descriptions of panic attacks, and brief mentions of suicidal ideation
> 
> also this is unbeta'd and barely proofread sorry i'm Dead (might go in and fix it later if there's anything Horribly Wrong with it)

After his dip in the Pit, it had taken Jason months to stop smashing mirrors. It had been months after that before he was able to look at his reflection without having a panic attack. Sometimes, on what Jason had dubbed his Bad Days, a glimpse in the mirror could still send him into a downward spiral. 

It wasn’t just the white trauma stripe in his hair, or the new green in his eyes—though those were both painful physical reminders of all he’d been through—it was mostly the scar on his chest. 

Thick and pink-white, clinically straight and brutal, his autopsy scar was one of his biggest hang-ups. 

_Triggers_ , Roy had called them. Roy, who had suffered as much as Jason, just in different ways. Roy, who was strong and supportive and steady. Roy, who had saved Jason, in mind and body, more times than either of them cared to admit. 

Roy, who had said that returning to Gotham alone was a bad, bad, _bad_ idea. 

Roy, who was always right. 

_God, Roy._

The decision to call him isn’t a hard one, in the end. He’s been on a mission with Kori for the better part of the last three months, liberating some tiny planet a few galaxies away. They’ve been calling regularly to check in, but Jason’s been brushing them off as efficiently as possible, trying his best to ignore the sharp, stabbing pain of their absence every time he hears their voices. Sometimes, he thinks, it’s actually worse to hear from them more often, a constant reminder of how far away they are. 

Today, though, that’s not the case. The second Roy picks up the phone, Jason almost starts crying in relief.

“When are you and Kori coming back.” Jason’s voice sounds sharp and pitiful even in his own ears, cracked and dry and lacking in inflection. 

Roy’s voice on the other end of the line is softer, a cool balm to Jason’s panic. _“Soon. Few more days. Mission’s almost over. Is everything okay in Gotham?”_ Jason is silent, throat closing as he tries to answer. Roy’s tone changes from conversational to concerned, still calm but more… Urgent. _“Talk to me, buddy,”_ He says, voice soft like he’s trying to calm a cornered animal. 

“No,” Jason says, lying down on his side. His door is locked, his shades are shut, his mirrors are blacked out and all the lights are turned off. Even still, Jason is tucked away under the shitty, worn-out bed in his Tricorner Yards safehouse. The floorboards are covered in a fine layer of dust, but they’re achingly familiar, even up this close. It’s been a long time since Jason’s been down here. _Hiding under the bed like a fuckin’ toddler throwing a tantrum,_ his mind supplies unhelpfully, making him flinch. “Not okay. I… left. Not all the way, just to Tricorner.” 

_I left._

Jason almost wants to laugh at himself. He didn’t _leave,_ he _fled._ Like a coward, he ran away as soon as Dick had left his room. It had been too much, far too fast. Jason wasn’t even sure he wanted to be at the manor in the first place—he definitely wasn’t ready to bare his soul for the first Boy Wonder (or any of them, for that matter).

There are a few seconds of tense silence on the other end of the line before Roy clears his throat. Anyone else, and they’d be biting back the urge to say ‘I told you so,’ but Roy’s not like that. Jason knows the only thing Roy’s worried about it whether or not Jason’s actually a danger to himself. _Or other people,_ his mind supplies again, this time even more vicious than before. 

Jason doesn’t even realize that his breathing has become erratic until Roy murmurs, _“How bad, Jase?”_

 _Please rate your pain on a scale of one to ten._

It’s their system, for when Roy and Kori aren’t there, and for when Jason can’t really _talk_ to them, not in any helpful way, for them to know how bad it is. 

Jason clanches his fist, counts backwards from ten like Roy taught him. “Four,” he says, because it really is only a four right now. He can’t leave the house—can’t even make himself get out from under the bed—but he’s also not punching through drywall or holding the business end of a Barretta to his own skull, so that’s progress. 

When Jason first met Kori and Roy, he hadn’t really known there was anything wrong with him. He’d just assumed that he was fine, that the Pit had taken away some parts of him and that was Just The Way Things Were Gonna Be. He’d come back a few meatballs short of a pasta dinner, and he was gonna have to live with it. 

_So it goes._

“Fuck that,” Roy had said, “This is, like, the most textbook case of PTSD ever, bro. You’re not _broken,_ you just need a little help getting back on your feet.” 

Eventually, they’d made it to where they were now. 

“Sorry,” Jason says, listening to Roy’s steady breathing on the other end of the line. “Thought I was ready.”

_“Hey, it’s okay. Look, me and Kori are coming home. We can be back by tonight. Stay where you are, okay? Jase?”_

“Thought you said you had a few days left,” Jason says, closing his eyes. “What about the mission?”

 _“Fuck the mission,”_ Roy replies emphatically, _“It’s mostly debriefing and all that post-mission red-tape shit at this point, anyway. The rest of the team can wrap up for us.”_

“Are you sure?” Jason’s voice is smaller than he’d like it to be. 

_“Of course, man.”_ Roy’s voice is warm, and Jason clings to the sound of it, even from lightyears away. There are murmurs on the other end of the line, what sounds like Roy and a distinctly feminine voice. They’re muffled, like someone has their hand over the microphone. 

“Is that Kori? Is she there?” Jason asks, knowing they can hear him. “Can I talk to her?”

 _“Jason. I am here.”_ Kori’s voice is calming in a way that even Roy’s sometimes isn’t. 

If Roy is Jason’s anchor, then Kori is the scaffolding holding him together, the steel beams and cement that his foundation is built from. She’s been there for most of Jason’s worst days. Unlike Roy, she’s never tried to fix Jason—she won’t drag him out of bed, or try to make him talk about his feelings. Instead, she’ll lay down in bed with him and hold him, let her body’s warmth sink into his skin, bring him back to the moment. Remind him that he’s _alive._

“Talk to me?” With anyone else, he knows he’d never be able to ask. Even before the Pit, he was never the sort of person who was capable of asking for help. Growing up on the streets had completely destroyed that part of him, if he ever even had it at all. With Kori, though, he hardly even has to think about it. It comes naturally, almost like she pulls out parts of him that he didn’t even know existed. 

_“Roy and I have been very… bored without you. This mission has been incredibly underwhelming so far. Frankly, I’m grateful for the excuse to return home early. The circumstances are less than fortunate, but still.”_ There are a few seconds of silence on the other end of the line, followed by a small chuckle from Kori. _“Earth’s galaxy looks so small from here. Earth itself is invisible. So small, so far away.”_ She sighs, _“It makes me miss you more. You feel so far, even as I speak with you right now.”_

Kori talks more about space and the stars and the mission, voice low and soothing if a little raspy. When she pauses, the silence is calm. 

“Thank you,” Jason whispers, breathing even and voice at a low whisper. “ _God_ , I miss you guys so much. It’s been _months._ ” 

_“I know, man,”_ Roy’s voice is back on the line. _“It fuckin’ sucks. The mission was successful, though, and we’re on our way home. I’ll call you when we’re in Gotham. With any luck, we’ll be there in a few hours. You gonna be okay on your own until then?”_

Jason knows that if he says no right now, Roy will call someone else. If he thinks there’s even the slightest chance that Jason can’t be alone, he’d call someone to keep an eye on Jason. Maybe he wouldn’t even tell Jason, especially if he thought he’d be a flight risk. So, Jason makes sure his voice is steady when he replies, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m better now. It was… bad. I just needed to hear your voices.” He lets his voice go a little wobbly when he adds, “Thanks for picking up.”

He can practically see the look on Roy’s face as he replies, _“Always, Jaybird. Always.”_ There’s some static, a shuffling noise, and Roy says, _“Alright, I gotta go. Stay safe. We love you.”_

Jason closes his eyes, lets a few tears sneak out. _“I love you, too.”_

The line goes dead. 

* * *

It takes almost an hour for Jason to build up his resolve, but he eventually forces himself to make his way out from under the bed. It isn’t easy. In fact, it might almost be comical: Jason is over two hundred pounds of muscle, packed tightly into a six-foot frame. His bed, in contrast, is a rickety old thing, barely capable of holding up the twin-sized mattress that sits on top of it. 

With a grunt, Jason stands up on shaky legs. He feels as though he’s spent the last hour running at breakneck speed rather than curled in a pathetic ball on the floor. 

Slowly, he stumbles to the sink, fills up a glass of water, drinks it down. Makes his way to the bathroom, takes a piss, collapses onto the bed. By the time his head hits the pillow, he’s already out cold. 

* * *

Roy is practically beside himself with worry. He was _so sure_ that Jason was gonna be okay on his own that he didn’t even bother calling anyone to keep an eye on him. That was, until Jason didn’t answer the phone. 

“I _told_ him I was gonna call as soon as we got back to Gotham. Jason’s not… he wouldn’t _forget._ ” 

Kori puts a hand on Roy’s shoulder, calming and steady as always. “Jason probably fell asleep. You know how he gets.” 

Roy takes a deep breath. “Yeah.” Kori’s right—Jason’s always drained after attacks like the one he just had. He’s usually in a state of borderline-zombification until he gives in and passes out. “I just… I’m worried. It’s been so long since anything’s happened. I thought… we were doing so well.”

“We are still doing well,” Kori responds, “You know better than anyone that recovery is not linear.” 

“Yeah,” Roy lets some of the tension drain out of his body. “Yeah, you’re right.” 

Kori’s eyes glitter as she smirks at him, “I am _always_ right.” 

* * *

When Kori and Roy make it to Jason’s safe house, slightly out of breath (on Roy’s part, anyway) and nearly two hours ahead of schedule, they open the door and creep inside as quietly as possible. 

They’re not silent—sometimes, on the days he can’t fall asleep after an attack, Jason will get paranoid, stuck in a flashback. On those days, Roy’s grown accostumed to finding him hiding behind furniture, drenched in sweat, clutching a firearm to his chest like a lifeline. 

On more than one occasion, Roy’s had to dodge a few bullets for sneaking up on Jason when he’s in that state. So, just to be safe, they make sure to make a little bit of noise when they enter. Not enough to wake Jason if he’s sleeping, but enough that he’ll be alerted to their presence if he’s awake. 

When the dingy apartment is silent, even as both vigilantes pause in the doorway, Kori nods to Roy. _Go check on him._

Roy finds Jason curled up on a dirty mattress, sweaty and shivering with his back to the wall. On the bright side, there’s no gun in sight (though Roy doesn’t doubt that there’s at least one hidden somewhere nearby). 

“Christ, Jaybird,” He says, shaking his head. Then, whispers, “Sorry we weren’t here.” He reaches out, brushes Jason’s hair back from his forehead softly. There’s a fine layer of dust there, Roy notices. In fact, Jason’s covered in dust. 

“Dammit,” Roy says, ducking down to peek under the bed. He shakes his head again when he sees the areas where the dust has been disturbed, especially at the spots that are distinctly Jason-shaped. 

Back when this safehouse was as new as their friendship, Jason had made a habit of hiding under the bed during bad episides. For some reason, he felt safe there. Hidden. It had been _months_ since he’d crawled under there, though. Months since he’d had an episode bad enough to warrant it. 

Roy moved to sit down on the edge of the mattress and stroke Jason’s hair again, careful not to wake him. Based on the gauntness in his face and the dark circles under his eyes, his friend needed all the sleep he could get. 

“What happened to you, man?” Roy’s voice is soft and concerned and frustrated all at once, seeming to echo in the silent room. 

* * *

When Jason finally opens his eyes, it’s to near-darkness. The shades are still pulled shut and the lights are out, but there’s a faint line of sunlight creeping in through the gap between the edge of the shade and the frame of the window, casting the room in a barely-there golden light. 

It’s nearly the same as it was when he fell asleep, but it’s warmer. Jason relaxes, smiles, gives himself a moment to bask in the fact that his friends are back. Kori’s on one side, wedged between him and the wall, her back to the window, fast asleep. Roy’s on his other side, sitting up with his head back against the wall, snoring loudly. 

_They’re probably exhausted,_ Jason thinks with a stab of guilt, doing his best not to disturb them as he gets out of bed. His joints seem to scream in protest all the way to the shower, but it’s a necessary evil. _God, I feel disgusting_. 

The hot spray is a relief, but only a temporary one. Jason lets the scalding water pour over his head onto his chest, watches as his skin turns from pinkish-white to a deep red color, flushed and irritated. He barely bothers with shampoo before he stumbles back out of the shower, finally free of the gritty, dusty feeling that’s been lingering since he crawled out from under the bed.

Throwing on a pair of sweatpants and a too-big hoodie, he makes his way out of the bathroom, only to be met with Kori and Roy, awake and in the kitchen. 

The room smells like coffee and Kori’s smile is gentle. “Jason,” She says, “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Jason shrugs. 

Roy snorts, sitting down next to Kori. “Come on, dude. You forget who you’re talking to or something? It’s us.” He smiles at Jason, pushing a mug of hot coffee towards the third chair. It’s an invitation, one Jason would be stupid to blow off. 

He sits down. “Sorry. It just. I dunno, I thought I was doing better. Sorry for fucking up the mission or whatever.” 

Neither Roy nor Kori seem particularly surprised by Jason’s behavior. They’re used to it; they know how much he hates vulnerability, even with them. “Hey, dude, no worries,” Roy says, “Like Kori said, it was boring as shit anyway.” Then, quieter, “Sorry we couldn’t be here when it happened.”

Jason shrugs with one shoulder, picking up his coffee. “It’s fine. It kind of came out of nowhere.”

Roy purses his lips, considering whether or not to pursue the issue. His curiosity must win out, because a moment later, he says, “They never come out of nowhere, Jase. What happened?”

“Um.” Jason takes a sip of coffee, ears turning kind of pink. “Dick happened, actually.” 

Roy raises an eyebrow. “Care to elaborate?”

Jason sighs, launches into the story. 

* * *

Roy wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he asked Jason what triggered his episode, but it definitely wasn’t ‘Dick Grayson.’

Though, come to think of it, the list of people who could affect Jason this way was short, usually limited to Bruce, Talia, Joker, and Nightwing himself. Everyone else important in Jason’s life fell into the “post-resurrection” category— like Roy and Kori, they existed as distinctly separate from Jason’s old life. People like Bruce and Dick, though, held far more power over Jason’s psyche than any of them realized. 

The moment Jason mentions the scar, though, the story starts to fall together behind Roy’s eyes. He can practically see it: Jason’s anxiety, the kicked-puppy look in Dick’s eyes, Jason’s defensiveness, Dick’s explosive word-vomit. 

When Jason’s done talking, he sets his coffee on the table and slumps back in his seat, posture like a deflated balloon. “Sorry. It’s so… Stupid.” 

“It’s not,” Roy says, “Really. It’s like… Dick’s from ‘Before,’ right? And your scar, obviously, is from ‘After.’ You’ve been doing everything you can to keep those worlds separate. You’ve started to come to terms with your scar and what it means in the context of _this_ life—” Roy gestures to himself and Kori— “But you’re still isolating _all that_ —” He gestures outside, in the general direction of the rest of Gotham— “And you’re unwilling to actually accept who you are now as an important part of your identity in _that_ context. And, I think, Dick sometimes represents to you who you were ‘Before.’ So, when Dick saw you like that, vulnerable, that duality you created, the “Before” Jason and the “After” Jason, they collided, and you were completely unprepared.” Roy looks up and is immediately met with Jason’s blank stare. “Am I… wrong?” 

Jason blinks several times, mouth hanging open a little. “I… I never really thought about it like that. I guess… I guess, yeah, I kind of thought of Dick as being, like, a reminder of who I used to be.” _Who I could have been._ “And it felt like if I didn't show him this part of me, maybe I’d be able to cling onto that last little scrap of what my life used to be. I just wasn’t ready to let go, I guess.” Jason lets his head fall into his hands. “Shit, man. I don’t know. I can’t do this right now.”

Roy opens his mouth to say something, but he’s cut off by Kori. “Of course, Jason. We understand. In fact, _Roy’s_ sorry for pushing so hard.” 

Roy raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t contest Kori. “I was _gonna say_ that while you were sleeping, I took the liberty of logging into HBO on your shitass TV. What say you we sit down on this lumpy-ass couch for a few hours and chill?” Roy plops down on Jason’s ratty, secondhand couch, a smile on his face, and pats the cushions beside him. “Game of Thrones marathon, anyone?”

A few hours later, they fall asleep like that, all three of them on the couch. It was the best sleep Jason had gotten in nearly three months. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so idk how i feel about this chapter. this was kind of a dick-centric fic at first, but i wanted to focus on jason in this chapter, so i sort of had to change POV's. idk how i feel about (a) my writing from jason's POV and (b) switching between jason and roy's POVs mid-chapter. it felt sort of weird and i just couldn't get this chapter to Feel Right for some reason. 
> 
> i marked this fic as unfinished because like. it's not really anymore? like i have a few ideas for where i want this to go, but all of them feel Weird, so idk i have to figure this out lol. either way, lemme know how u feel but please be gentle i am Fragile. 
> 
> P.S.: also, as always, this is totally unbeta'd because all of my works are unbeta'd because i hate myself, so. lemme kno if there are any like... seriously atrocious mistakes?? lol. 
> 
> as always, thanks for reading :))))))
> 
> (*Edit: dear god i just read the start/end notes and they aren't even comprehensible English i'm so sorry thanks for tolerating me lol)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dick can't take no for an answer, and jason deals with the repercussions. 
> 
> (minor TW for some self-harm and a sort of graphic panic attack)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi im so sorry i know i said *weeks* ago that i'd 'update in a few days,' but things have been kinda crazy. i mean, like. i have been dealing with some whack-ass writer's block, eating like garbage, and watching an unhealthy amount of Golden Girls on Hulu. also, i've watched Batman Begins like four times in the last three days. i think i've finally started to go insane. 
> 
> so. yeah. TLDR; sorry i suck lol here's the chapter

Jason’s only been gone for twelve hours before Dick starts missing him. 

It’s only  _ part  _ missing Jason, if he’s honest. A good part of it has to do with guilt. The sort of guilt that has him laying down on Tim’s floor at four in the afternoon, ranting about his feelings for the third time that day. 

“So,” Dick says, “It’s like. I kind of knew he was gonna run away, because it was just too good, you know? Like, it was just way too good to be true. And… I don’t know, Tim. What should I  _ do?” _

Tim sighs in an incredibly put-upon way, looking up from his laptop. “Honestly? I think you should stop being such a whiny, self-centered jerkwad.”

Dick blinks, clearly surprised. “Uh. What.”

Tim furrows his eyebrows, “Do you really not see it?” Then, at Dick’s blank stare, “Jesus. Trained by the world’s greatest detective,  _ my ass.” _

“Tim, please, just… Tell me what I’m doing wrong.” 

“Fine. But only because a) you look so pathetic, and b) I am seriously beginning to doubt your ability to figure this out on your own.” Tim closes his laptop and folds his hands on top, suddenly sharp and businesslike. “Jason’s been through the ringer. I shouldn’t have to tell you that. I mean, the guy died and came back, Dick. That’s really gotta do a number on your noggin,” Tim raps a fist on his skull twice for emphasis. “Even if it didn’t, from what I gather, Jason wasn’t exactly a shiny, forthcoming ray of sunshine before the incident.”

“I… Yeah,” Dick says. “I guess you’re right.”

“So, you barge into his space, invade his privacy, cross all kinds of physical, emotional, and social boundaries that he has  _ very clearly set _ —” Dick winces as Tim counts off his offences on his fingers— “And you actually expected him to hang around? At the manor? Where he was already uncomfortable and probably felt unsafe?”

Dick has the decency to look a little ashamed. “No, I—”

Tim narrows his eyes, snapping, “No, of course not, you didn’t think. You didn’t even stop to consider the trauma that Jason is affected by on a daily basis; you didn’t bother to  _ pay attention _ to him well enough to recognize that he is  _ very clearly _ dealing with some kind of complex PTSD; you didn’t recognize the way his eyes glaze over every time he hears Joker’s name, or the way that he has to hide in the bathroom at least once a day for extended amounts of time, or the way that he spends all day looking at you like a goddamn kicked puppy because he’s here for  _ you  _ and not any of us.” Tim says the last part a little bitterly. 

Probably because he  _ is _ bitter, Dick realizes. Tim  _ idolized  _ the second Robin, almost as much as he idolized Dick. “You’re right,” Dick says, “God, you’re completely right. I mean, I knew something was wrong from the beginning. I just assumed…”

“That he was, what? Still processing? Dealing with the after-effects of his dip in the Pit?”

Dick shrugs. “I guess, yeah. It’s just… what I wanted to believe.”

“Selfishly.”

Tim’s disapproval cuts Dick deep, stings in a way that makes him wince. “Yeah. You’re right.” 

Tim sighs. “Sorry. That was harsh of me. It’s just…” 

“No,” Dick says, “You’re totally right. I just… hate hearing it sometimes.”

“I know.” Tim smiles, “So?”

“So?”

“So, are you gonna sit here all day like an idiot, or are you going to fix this?”

…

Jason’s always sore the day after an attack, especially one as bad as this last one. So, when he draws a hot bath for himself and soaks for almost two hours straight, it’s a surprise to absolutely no one. 

Around the 115-minute mark, he hears a soft knock on the door. “Hey, Jase. I grabbed some groceries from the bodega down the street, packed your fridge. Made some mac’n’cheese for ya. It’s in a tupperware on the table for when you get out. I’m going to our apartment with Kori real quick. Just gonna shower and grab some of our stuff.” 

Jason grunts in response, slowly pulling himself out of the water. 

Every muscle aches, stiff and sharp and intensely enough that he has to bite back a groan. Jason wraps himself in a towel, tries to avoid looking at himself in the bathroom mirror as he shoulders his way through the door. 

In his room, Jason throws on a ratty t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants with a hole in the knee. He can smell the mac’n’cheese from the kitchen—it smells good, but not good enough to tempt him away from collapsing on his bed in a heap. 

Just as he’s closing his eyes, ready to fall asleep, he hears a knock on the door. He groans. “ _ Roy _ ,” He says, pulling himself up off the bed to open the door, “How hard is it to remember to take the  _ keys— _ ”

The face on the other side of the door is enough to stop Jason short. “You’re not Roy.”

“No,” Dick smiles nervously, “I’m not.”

…

“Sorry,” Dick says, hands shaky and heart beating a little too fast, “I didn’t know you were expecting Roy.”

“If you did, would it have stopped you from coming?” Jason’s voice is flat and tired, a little cracked. Dick feels it like a punch in the gut. 

In fact, the more Dick looks at Jason, the more he feels something heavy and sick settle in his gut. Jason looks wan, cold, tired. Weak, like he could keel over at any minute. Dark circles under his eyes, face gaunt and pale

… _ Like a zombie. _

Dick shivers at the thought. “No, probably not,” He admits. “I just… I wanted to say sorry. It was kind of fucked up, what I did.” 

Jason rolls his shoulders and lets out a shuddering breath, shuffling over to his bedroom. Dick follows, a few paces behind. “It’s fine.” 

“It’s not. I…” Dick blows out a breath. “I missed you, and I wanted to help? I… I just wanted to make sure you were okay. After the other night.” 

Jason eases himself onto his bed with a sigh, hands on his knees, exhaustion etched into every inch of his frame. He looks up wearily, raises an eyebrow at Dick. “Is this suppossed to be an apology?”

Dick winces, leaning against the wall across from Jason. “Yeah. Sorry, I rehearsed it in my head on the way over here, but. As soon as I saw you? It just.  _ Poof _ .” Dick waves his fingers in front of his face, a pantomime of his memories going up in smoke. 

“Yeah, about that.” Jason squints at him, “How did you even find me?”

Dick raises an eyebrow. Shrugs, “B has always known where you are,” He says, “As soon as you took the lease out on this place, he knew about it. It was just a matter of looking it up.” 

Dick knows immediately that that was the wrong thing to say as Jason stares at the floor, face rapidly draining of color. “He’s been watching me this whole time.”

“No!” Dick says, “Not really? I mean, he likes to keep tabs, check in? But he doesn’t like…  _ Spy _ on you.”

Jason’s glare is murderous. “Sounds a whole lot like spying to me.”

“Jason—”

“Get out,” He says, unblinking. “Get the fuck out of my house.” 

“No!” Dick says, “I mean— I didn’t— That’s not what I _meant_. He’s _not_ _spying_ on you. Look, I—”

“Get. Out.” This time, Jason does look up. When he does, his gaze isn’t full of rage or fear like last time, but it’s detached. Empty. The sheets ruffle as he reaches under his pillow, grabs a gun, and points it at Dick. The  _ click _ of the safety being disabled resonates off the walls, louder than it has any right to be. “Get the fuck out of my house, Grayson. This time, I’ll take the shot.” 

Dick’s eyes widen, hands snapping up, palms open. Pacifying. Surrendering. He doesn’t step back, though. Doesn’t back down. Instead, he takes a step forward. Cautious. 

Foolish. 

Jason pulls the trigger. 

…

Jason can’t feel his feet. His hands are going numb. There’s an icy, cold, shaky feeling crawling its way up all his limbs and making its way towards his chest. 

This place was supposed to be his, only his. Somewhere away from Bruce and the bats, somewhere that he could just be  _ Jason _ . Somewhere that they couldn’t reach him. Somewhere that he could be safe. It was foolish, really. Naive, to think that he could have a place like that in Gotham. 

The sound of the gunshot echoes in his skull. 

There’s a small crater in the drywall next to Dick’s head. 

_ “Get out,” _ Jason says, eyes burning. “Get out, get out, get  _ out.” _

Jason feels his breathing pick up, feels his grip on the gun loosening as it rolls out of his hand onto the bed. His head feels like it’s underwater. He barely hears the low baritone of Dick’s voice, hardly registers the door slamming. There are voices, in the distance, shouting over one another. They make Jason feel ill. 

Jason’s scratching. There’s an itch, somewhere deep under his skin, burning and urgent and utterly unreachable. Jason scratches anyway. Digs his fingernails into the skin on his arms and  _ pulls _ , feels the hot-cold-pleasure-pain all the way up his forearms, intense and grounding. It’s so  _ wrong _ , and he knows it’s wrong— knows, deep down, that he’s doing something he’s not supposed to. He can’t think, not outside of this tunnel vision, this thought vacuum, can’t figure out  _ why _ it isn’t right. Just knows. Just knows it’s not something he should be doing. 

_ Roy would be disappointed.  _

Suddenly, Jason sees orange. Smells stale cigarettes. He makes contact with a pair of green eyes.  _ Roy, _ his brain supplies. Part of him deliriously wonders if he summoned Roy to his side, just thinking about him. “Roy,” He says, “Roy, get him out, get him  _ out _ —”

“I will, Jase,” Roy’s voice is steady and calm. Gentle. “I’m getting him out. Need you to stop scratching, okay? Can you do that?” Roy’s hands close around Jason’s. “Stop scratching for me, and I’ll make sure he’s gone.”

Roy puts a hand on the back of Jason’s head, pulls him forward in a half-hug. Jason lets out a shuddering breath, lets his forehead rest on Roy’s shoulder. Relaxes into his best friend’s arms. Shivers. “My hair is wet,” He says, feeling small. 

Roy’s grip tightens around his shoulders. Comforting, not controlling. “Okay. Let’s get you warm, alright?” 

Jason nods and closes his eyes, mentally checking out. He trusts Roy to take care of him, no matter how sensitive and vulnerable he feels. He lets himself relax, does his best to drift away. 

…

Roy’s knuckles ache as he wraps Jason’s arms. Part of him wants to smile at the memory of punching Dick squarely in his stupid, smug face. The other half is trapped in this moment, binding Jason’s mutilated arms, trying to scrub the blood from under his friend’s fingernails. 

Jason’s unconscious on the bed. Two panic attacks, back-to-back, especially ones as bad as this, have taken a toll on his body and his mind. “Sleeping is good for him,” Kori says, laying a hand on Roy’s shoulder. “He will be okay.”

“Can’t say the same for Dick, though,” Roy says, frown deepening.

“Being angry at Dick will not help Jason,” Kori says, “It will probably just upset him more.” 

“I know,” Roy sighs, “I just wish that stupid oaf had stayed away for a few days. I just… I want Jason to be okay, you know?” 

“Yes,” Kori says, fixing that thousand-yard stare on the open window, “I know.”

…

Jason wakes up and immediately begins packing his things. Kori and Roy don’t ask any questions, just help him pack. 

“What’s the plan, J-man?” Roy asks, raising an eyebrow at his friend as they zip the last duffle bag shut. 

“I’m moving out,” Jason says, “Out of Gotham. For good, I think.” 

Roy nods. “Okay. Where you thinkin’?”

And that’s just so  _ Roy,  _ Jason thinks to himself. So willing to roll with the punches, ride the wave. So accepting. Like it doesn’t make a difference to him where they go, so long as they’re together. 

“How are you and Oliver getting along these days?” Jason asks. 

…

They move out of Gotham— out of Jersey— and into Star City. Not much is different, but Jason feels freer here. Less stifled. 

He knows, if Bruce really wanted to, he could find him here. The knowledge of that leaves something itchy and uncomfortable under his skin, but he chooses to ignore it and focus on the knowledge that Bruce  _ won’t  _ find him here. 

Mostly, because he won’t look. 

Last anyone knew, Ollie and Roy were still on the outs. Bruce knows that Roy would never come back to Star City if he was fighting with Ollie, and Jason would never go anywhere without Roy. Star City is one of the last places he’ll come looking for Jason. 

The only confounding variable here is Ollie. Jason’s never trusted the man entirely, but Roy does, and that’s enough for him. If Jason’s honest, he’s sort of worried that Ollie might let something slip at a JLA meeting and blow their cover, but it’s unlikely. 

Mostly, Jason just feels empty. 

...

Days pass, then weeks. Dick doesn’t return to Jason’s apartment. Doesn’t so much as try to shoot him a text message. His fingers itch to grab his phone during every still minute, but he resists. 

He needs to give Jason time. 

He can give Jason the time he needs. 

He can do this. 

He  _ can _ . 

“ _ Shit, _ ” Dick says, emphatically, coughing as a mugger gets a solid kick in on his sternum. 

_ That’s gonna leave a bruise _ . 

It only takes him a few moments post-slip-up to take the mugger down. By that point, the ache in his sternum has faded to a dull throb. He rubs it, trying to get the ache out. 

“Come in, Nightwing,” Tim’s voice crackles through his comm. 

“Rob? ‘Sup?”

“Uh, actually, this one’s from B. Says you should call it a night.” 

“ _ What? _ Why? It’s barely 2AM.”

“Uh…” There’s some muttering on the other end of the line, Tim’s hissy whisper and Bruce’s low growl. “B says you’re fighting distracted. Have been for a few days. Um. He says to sort your shit out; you’re a liability right now. I’m paraphrasing.” 

Dick feels the words like another blow to the chest. “Yeah. Okay,” He says, hopes his emotions aren’t showing in his words. 

He knows they are when he hears Tim’s voice on the other end of the line, “Nightwing—” But Dick cuts the comm. 

…

Dick doesn’t really get out of bed the next day. The curtains stay shut and the door stays locked from the inside. He thinks he sees shadows on the other side a few times, hears soft muttering. Thinks he maybe notices Alfred dropping food off at mealtimes. 

He doesn’t bother to open the door for any of it. At least, until Tim comes knocking. Well, he doesn’t knock. He picks the lock on Dick’s door and lets himself in. 

“I fucked up again, Timmers,” Dick says, not even waiting for his brother to step inside. “I don’t… God, I really messed up this time.”

“I know.” Tim says. Then: “Jason moved out. We’re not sure where to. I asked Bruce to stop keeping tabs.”

Dick curls in on himself, feels the words settle into his skin. They feel like acid. “That’s. Probably for the best.” 

“It is,” Tim says, “But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.” 

Dick sighs. “Yeah. He… He  _ shot at me, _ Tim. With a  _ gun. _ I mean, we get shot at all the time; it’s practically in the job description. I just… Never thought it would be him on the other end of the gun.”

Tim frowns. “Jason has always been… A ticking time bomb. Ever since B first brought him on as Robin, he’s known. The Lazarus Pit just sort of… Brought things to a head in a way that no one could have ever predicted? And Jason, ever since he came back, he hasn’t been quite  _ right. _ He’s held all of us at gunpoint at one time or another. It’s… It’s not always personal, with him. Sometimes he’s like a cornered animal, you know? Just… Desperate.” 

“I did sort of…”

“... Corner him?”

Dick drops his head into his hands. “... Yeah.”

Tim looks contemplative for a moment before saying, “Look, I know that fixing things with Jason was important to you.  _ Is _ important to you. Just remember that the bridge needs to get built from both sides, okay? It… It has to be a mutual effort. Meet in the middle, you know?” 

Dick chuckles sadly, “When did you get so smart, little brother?” 

Tim grins now, rubbing his knuckles into Dick’s skull in an over-enthusiastic noogie. “Probably around the time that you got so stupid, stupid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooo ok um. i'm sorry for the inconsistent updates. i hope you all liked this chapter okay. thanx again for,, uh, everything? <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooo aight so. shortest chapter yet. sorry again about my inconsistent updates. i've been kind of depressed lately (read: um. i am barely alive) and watching a lot of Golden Girls (see the notes on chapter 3). anyway, i was getting really frustrated with myself for not being able to finish this fic, so i sort of just. pushed through the rest of it and hated literally every second of it. i hope it's not too disappointing <3

Jason inhales deep in his chest, pulling his cigarette down to the filter. Star City is nothing like Gotham, he muses, blowing smoke into the night air. It’s almost 2AM, and Star City is sleeping. If Star City is Metropolis’s ugly sister, then Gotham is the convicted-felon delinquent cousin. Jason chuckles to himself at the thought. 

Jason doesn’t turn around when he hears the window slide open behind him. All he says is, “Hey, Roy,” When he hears his friend’s feet hit the metal of the fire escape. 

“How you doin,’ Jay?”

“Fine,” Jason says. Puts out his cigarette. Considers. “Better. Better than I was.” It’s true-- it’s been almost two months since their move to Star City. The weather has turned chilly and the leaves have started going orange as November creeps closer. Thoughts of Dick and the other bats have been fewer and further between. “I think I’m learning to let go. Maybe… Maybe I’m ready to go back.” 

Jason doesn’t have to look Roy in the eyes to know the expression on his face-- eyebrows knit in concern, forehead wrinkled, nose a little scrunched. “I… Are you sure?” 

“Yeah,” Jason says. Chuckles a little. “It seems sort of ridiculous, that all this shit happened because of some stupid scars.” 

Jason can see Roy shrug out of the corner of his eye. “They’re not stupid,” Roy says, “But, yeah. I get it. Trauma works in weird ways, though, you know?”

“Yeah,” Jason says, squinting into the distance, past the skyline. “It sort of does.”

…

The doorbell rings at 2:30PM on a Sunday afternoon, rudely interrupting Dick’s regularly scheduled episode of self-loathing and a rerun of _Dirty Dancing_. Dick frowns. _Who do I know that makes house calls?_ _Maybe Alfred’s been getting more worried than he let on._

With a shrug, Dick hauls himself off the couch, pauses  _ Dirty Dancing _ , and considers putting on a shirt. In the end, laziness wins out.  _ Sweatpants it is, _ Dick thinks.  _ Classy.  _

Dick regrets that decision as soon as he opens the door. 

Because it’s Jason, standing on the other side. Jason, looking healthy and strong and almost  _ happy. _ There’s pink in his cheeks and on his nose and the circles under his eyes are almost invisible. 

He’s never looked so beautiful. 

Dick has to blink twice to make sure he’s really there. 

Jason grins a little, uneven and genuine, like he knows what Dick’s thinking. “So… You gonna let me in, or nah?”

...

Dick Grayson is a world-class super-spy, a skilled vigilante trained by the world’s greatest detective, and yet. And yet, he is blindsided once again by Jason Todd. 

_ Seems to be a recurring theme. _

“I… Why are you here?” Dick winces as soon as the words are out of his mouth. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean that. Just—”

“I wanted to say I was sorry,” Jason says, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Dick has to bend his head back to meet Jason’s eyes— it’s moments like these that remind Dick how much taller Jason is. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Dick says. “God, if anyone should be apologizing, it’s me. I’ve had a lot of time to think about what I did, okay? And I have. Thought about it, I mean. A lot. And I get it now, why it was wrong. I didn’t understand at the time; I thought I was doing the right thing. I wasn’t, though. I was just being selfish.” Dick sighs, “I was so caught up in my own head that I didn’t even realize that you were hurting already, and I ended up making it so much worse.”

Dick’s a little out of breath by the end of his rant, wary to look up and meet Jason’s gaze again. Until—

“Don’t give yourself so much credit, Dickie.” Jason’s soft chuckle seems to echo off the walls of Dick’s small, grubby apartment. “I was fucked up  _ way _ before I ever met you, and I…” Jason shrugs, “I think I was bound to boil over at some point, you know? You just happened to be the catalyst. Wrong place, wrong time. It’s not your fault.”

“Is that really how you feel?” Dick asks, “Because I… God, I’d like to believe that, Jason, but I don’t…” 

“Yeah.”

“You  _ shot _ at me.”

“To be fair, you were acting like a complete ass,” Jason says, “Plus, I missed. Don’t think that was an accident, Dickiebird.” 

“I don’t.” Dick finally feels a smile tugging up the corners of his mouth. Then, “I… Do you maybe want to… Get coffee? Together? Sometime?”

Jason’s eyes widen a little, like maybe he wasn’t expecting that. “I… Yeah. Yeah, I’d like to get coffee with you. I’d… I’d like that a lot.”

Dick’s answering smile is like the sun. 

…

“I’m sorry. Again.” Dick bites his lip, studying the table between himself and Jason. They’re at an artisanal coffee shop outside Avalon Heights. It’s somewhere Dick never would have visited on his own (not when the lukewarm brew in his shabby apartment does the job just as well), but Jason insisted. 

Well. Jason didn’t  _ insist. _ He didn’t have to. He mentioned the place, once, in passing. That was more than enough for Dick, though. If paying seven dollars for a cup of coffe was all it took to make Jason even a little happy? Dick was more than willing to oblige. Christ, he’d walk barefoot over hot coals just to see Jason smile. 

And those are the magic words—they must be, because Dick’s eyes light up with something that looks a lot like hope. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Jason smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that makes Dick’s stomach jump into his throat, “I’ve had a lot of time to think. Reflect. Sort out my shit.” Jason chuckles, “And, believe me, I had  _ a ton _ of shit to sort. I… I realized that I had a lot to rationalize to myself, you know? I had a lot of… hard truths to accept.” 

There’s something in Jason’s eyes that makes him look older than his twenty-something years. An ancient look, weary and worldly. It makes Dick reach across the table, slowly, and curl his fingers around Jason’s. “Truths like what?” Dick prompts, gently, even though he suspects he already knows the answer. 

Jason clenches his jaw. “Like the fact that I died. I was  _ murdered,  _ and then I was brought back. Stuff like that, it leaves… fractures. Fissions. It divides your life, draws a line in the sand— before and after. In my head, you guys were all… Before. You knew who I  _ was _ — Robin, Jaybird… I wasn’t ready for you to know me as I am now. Wasn’t ready to let go of that last bit of my old life.” 

And, God, if that doesn’t break Dick’s heart. “Jason, I… I had no idea.” 

Jason smiles, crooked and a little sad. “I never wanted you to know. In my perfect world, I could keep living in that little hermetically-sealed bubble of denial at the Manor. My perfect world, unfortunately, turned out to be unrealistic and unsustainable.” He curls his fingers a little tighter around Dick’s, smile dropping a little. “When you saw me… When you saw my  _ scar… _ Everything that I thought I had built sort of came crashing down. I had to learn to be okay with that.”

Dick feels sort of like all the air in his lungs has been sucked out. “I had no idea.” And,  _ wow,  _ that seems to be his catchphrase for the evening. 

Jason sighs. “I mean, it was gonna happen eventually. I try to think of it as, like… This change needed to happen, right? It was inevitable. I just needed a catalyst; a wakeup call. You were that wakeup call.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Dick frowns, “But I didn’t make it any easier, did I? Stalking you back to your apartment and, like, totally invading your space. And getting in a fistfight with Roy.” 

Jason chuckles. “If I remember correctly, it wasn’t so much a fight as it was Roy knocking you in the face.”

“Yeah,” Dick grins at the table.

“For what it’s worth?” Jason says, eyes twinkling as he meets Dick’s gaze. “I’m glad it was you. As self-righteous and obnoxious and meddling as you are, I love you, Dick Grayson. And, for the record, I’m glad you helped me sort stuff out, even if it maybe wasn’t the way either of us would have wanted.” 

Dick’s eyes widen almost comically, mouth hanging open a little. “I... love you too,” He says, voice cracking with something akin to awe, “I love you so much, Jason. And I’m glad, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if this chapter felt rushed, or if this story felt like. just. not right? i dunno. i kind of found myself starting to hate it, but i wasn't sure how to fix it or what to change to make me hate it less? so i kind of just pushed through and wrapped it up. maybe i'll give it some time and revisit this story later to make it part of a series (mostly because i feel like there was a lot of unexplored potential for Dick's characterization in this fic that i completely blew past), but i haven't really decided yet. tbh, some of it will depend on whether or not anyone would even wanna read it lol
> 
> anyway, thanks for sticking around and reading. i really appreciate it.


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